A Beginning to an End
by writerinlaymansterms
Summary: Good and evil are common archetypes in every story, and each side is distinctly separate from the other. It is a line in the sand that is never crossed. The protagonist always wins, and the loose ends are tied up neatly so that no one ever has to ask questions. Unfortunately, life is never that simple, and in order to survive, sometimes those lines become blurred. AU


**February 1, 2000**

Two people stood in the middle of a room at the old Crofton Bed and Breakfast. The billowing curtains, turned towards the couple, blew a small breeze through their flawless coifs. Dismantled bedcovers lay upon an elegant bed, which held a sullen Dmitri Grayson rolling a rusty ring within his fingers. He dragged one large palm across his face before he noticed his mother smugly leaning against the bureau. He stood and met her. Adelaide Grayson took her son's shoulders in her hands and cocked her head to the side, "Are you ready?" she asked in their native language, which was nice considering he had very few chances to use it around his friends in London. He looked apprehensively at her, before pasting on a confident smile. He removed her hands, and looked into her icy grey eyes.

"Why wouldn't I be excited for the best day of my life?" He smirked at his mother then scratched at the back of his neck, and began wearing down the rug beneath his feet. She had a knowing look on her oddly youthful face. She raised one trimmed blonde brow. And her hair was impeccable in a way that made Dmitri wonder if her magic was contained there because he never knew anyone's hair to be in such a constant state of order at any hour. Perhaps so, because throughout his childhood, nary a hair had ever been out of place…never mind, he'd gotten off the topic at hand. Namely his upcoming nuptuals

"Well, you are practically quaking in your boots," _And, your face had turned this odd puce-like shade_, she wanted to say, but she knew that would probably make him even more nervous. She once again spread her hands across the shoulder of his dress robes to fix the wrinkles he had created whilst he had been pacing. An odd furrow rested on her son's eyebrows, which showed emotion that contradicted his normally apathetic expression. Not to say he was heartless, but he saw little to do with constant strong emotions. Her daughter had not inherited her coolness as he had, and sometimes she wondered if her personality existed only to spite everyone's expectations, "Though I would be pained if I had to deal with any spawn of that demon, Jean Granger." She sneered slightly at the thought of her teenage rival. The years hadn't changed their enmity, as much as Dmitri and Hermione tried to change that.

"Her surname is Thornton, I believe, and she's not even attending. Business to take care of or something…Besides, you know you're acting like a petulant child, right?" He said with a caustic laugh. In usual style, she avoided a topic that didn't suit her.

"You are getting some of the money, aren't you? I do tire of wearing these rags," she gestured to her modest aubergine dress. He could understand, though he rolled his eyes in response. His mother grew up with a silver spoon firmly in mouth. He appreciated the fact that she gave it all up for him and his sister.

"I didn't take you for a shameless gold-digger, Mother," he stared amusedly at her. She shrugged, and took a single orchid out of the vase on the vanity directly right of her. She placed it in his lapel, "You know that Hermione's getting none of it, do you not? That was the stipulation of her being allowed into the magical world…So no, I won't be getting money out of her."

"A shame. Having that would be most useful," she rolled her eyes, "'rich girl trying to prove herself', how clichéd."

"I would think you'd find that admirable. At least you know she is a capable person, rather than some useless twit, with nothing between her ears but hot air."

"I assume you're referring to Daphne…"

"No, she was clever in her own way, just a bit shallow." He sighed, she was certainly smart in manipulating him to do her bidding before throwing him away like one of her old handkerchiefs she so loved, "She will be happily married to Zabini, who can fund her obsession with pretty things."

His mother laughed lightly, "You are much more forgiving than I. If that sort of humiliation had happened to me, vengeance would be swift."

"I take that as a compliment, some of your more violent tendencies worry me a bit. Besides isn't living a happy life the best sort of revenge."

"Speaking of which, I forgot how terrible you are at keeping time," she nodded towards the clock, "It's time for you to go meet that bride of yours at the altar," she sniggered a little at the blanch that colored her son's face. When he glared at her, she covered her mouth to assuage the laughter in her throat. She held out an elbow, and after a heavy inhale, he took her arm, and led her to the start of the rest of his life. Once they were at the door into the main chapel, he turned towards her.

"It seems as if this will be our final goodbye, I will miss you, Mother."

"And I, you." With one last hug, he pocketed the ring, and she disappeared. He swallowed down his sadness. He regretted immensely that she wouldn't be able to truly attend his wedding. Now he had to compose himself before he had to stand to wait for his wife-to-be.

He had an odd sort of fear that perhaps he and Hermione were not prepared for marriage. Still, what was forged on the battlefield was a lot stronger than most relationships. It was a time when it could be truly tested if one would die for the other, or if what was spoken between sheets was a kind lie so that you could have someone close during a time when human comfort was few and far between. And they'd been through enough to lose faith in the romantic aspects of life. Still, he had trust that what they had was once-in-a-lifetime, and not just some silly infatuation.

His fiancée had been so depressed – understandably so - and he had allowed her full reign of the wedding. It was worth it to see the little smiles she got when seeing all the décor, despite not being so girlish normally, and the giggles at his overly serious continence she tried to cover with her palm when she thought he wasn't looking were enough for him to remember every reason why he thought she was one of the most beautiful women in the world. No, she didn't have the type of face that would grace the covers of Witch Weekly, not with the scars that were scattered across their skin like constellations, in an eerie reflection of the other. The beauty was in her kind eyes, and warm smiles. He would do anything to keep that smile from leaving her face again; to be able to watch her as she let out exasperated sighs at her large and unruly mane (which at times when they were in bed together, he was afraid might suffocate him); to watch her furrowed brow as she attempted a particularly difficult spell, and her triumph when she succeeded; and those days when she would push everyone but him away because her mother had once again deemed her job as more important than seeing her through major events in her life. So, despite anxiety and worry over the future, he just wanted to see her happy again.

And this evening, she smiled, while walking down the aisle towards him. Her previously wilted form had been watered, leaving him awed at the vision she presented. She confidently stood across him, an enthused flush colored her cheeks. He smiled brightly, and his concerns were forgotten. He knew definitively that this woman would be his one and only, as long as he lived. He took his vows and they were declared man and wife. Dmitri and Hermione Grayson were ready to face their demons, together, with all of their friends behind them. It was nigh time things went right for them.

_1 Year Prior_

_It was the sound of one of the Death Eaters - McNair, he guessed - shouting, "Son of a mudblood whore," that woke him up. Just in time to see a bruised and bloodied woman thrown towards him, and as soon as he left – after the woman spat in his face, and received an immediate cruciatus at that – he crawled over and examined her._

"_Hermione Granger?" She abruptly flinched, but nodded. It was both terrifying, and disheartening to see the girl who easily corrected everyone in class at one point and was touted as the 'brightest witch of the age', cowering in the corner after being tortured by Death Eaters. If she were able to be defeated, how could he – or any of the Order – stand a chance? Still, he scooted closer, and used what was left of his robes to wipe some of the blood off of her face. Oddly, she didn't resist, when he knew how much she resented feeling helpless. It was when he got towards her right arm, where a large amount of blood had pooled, that she pulled away, cradling it in her left one. His confusion must have shown because after swallowing, she gave it back to him. He immediately saw why, etched in her blood, was the harsh barb of 'Mudblood'. When she saw the horror dawning on his face, she defensively began speaking._

"_I know it's silly, but I don't know…it feels embarrassing," when he heard how rough her voice is, it clicks in his brain that the disembodied screaming above his head had been hers, "the fact that I've just been reduced to who I was born to," she shrugs heavily, like the weight of her shoulders is too much to bear, "that no matter what I do, or how smart I prove to be…all I am to them is a mudblood. Now I'm going to be killed because of it." She laid across the stones, trying to find the most comfortable position before finding it fruitless and slumping down like an old sack. He cleared his throat a few times, although she'd turned around and paid him attention the first time, he needed to find the right words to say._

"_Where are Ron and Harry?" That was the wrong thing…Still, it was the best he could come up with to get his point through to her. Unfortunately it had the side effect of causing her face to fall dark and her to deflate completely to the point where she looked like a trampled kitten. The tears that she'd just gotten control over were on the verge of falling again. But, like always, she was able to maintain her composure. It was an odd thing to think, but he thought, despite her hair being in more of a tizzy than usual, her clothes being bloodstained, and her face looking an absolute mess, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He tried to rationalize that strange thought by saying maybe it was because her eyes looked brighter in spite of the weight that seemed to settle there, or perhaps the strong set of her jaw as she clenched and held it up high when she replied. Maybe it was even the fact that the only woman he'd seen recently was Bellatrix, and he was too disturbed by that for it to count. Still despite all that, everything about her, to him, shouted that she was exceptionally lovely, and perhaps it would be stupid to deny it. For certain he would not act on it, though. He was not apt to being rejected._

"_I told them to go on without me. I knew they'd have a chance of escaping if I did…"_

"_Without you they're screwed, anyone with half of a brain would realize that," he retorted._

"_If I hadn't, none of us would have made it!" she angrily returned. The normally uppity countenance returning to her quickly as she argued. Still, she kept a hushed tone in order to avoid agitating whoever was stationed at guard outside of the Malfoy dungeon._

"_Why not send Ron instead, he's less skilled at spells and he's used to being the butt end of them." Her entire being screamed scandalized._

"_What kind of person do you think I am? You expect me to just send my boyfriend in here, when I'm the one who knows I can survive. Besides, you may not think as much of their intellect as you should, but they are both incredibly capable wizards." She ended that set of statements, "Besides, they'll just attempt to use me as bait, I'll survive. One would not be able to say that about Harry. And unlike you, I'm not some neutral coward who wanted to just sit back in the hopes that I don't get killed."_

"_I agree. They'll keep you alive, but you're going to end up like this neutral coward. And you just might want to thank him for not revealing the Order's secrets, as a word of advice." He drawled out, but there was a chill to his voice. An odd malice not usually present._

"_I'm sorry. I was being harsh." She looked oddly contrite. And he almost was willing to forgive, but he could feel his nose flaring. How dare she act like he deserved to be here? Unfortunately, she was his only company, so peace needed to be made. He took a couple deep breaths and felt himself calm down. The fact that she still hadn't wiped away her tears and there was a small bit of snot running down her nose also made him a little more sympathetic. Besides, as his anger faded he was able to understand her side better. He had been disparaging towards her friends, and she couldn't stand for that. He'd never had friends he'd do that for – and vise-versa – but he could understand her irritation. That and, if the gray tone to her skin, and the slight bleeding she was still doing wasn't a good indication that her past hour had been rough_

"_Torture will do that to you." Which was how he justified ignoring her previous self-righteous judgment. He also remembered just being bitter at the world, and the way he always jumped at small noises now or flinched away if someone moved to fast. She took his words as an incentive to reach across the floor, even as she turned away and continued to prostrate herself, and grab his hand, giving it a light squeeze in addition. He fought the urge to slip his hand out of hers, but he realized he missed human contact._

"_I really am sorry. I'm just scared, and I can get a bit rude and behave a tad sanctimonious."_

"_Well it'll be nice to have the human dictionary with me."_

"_I always thought myself more an encyclopedia, maybe even a spell book. It'll be nice to be able to add more adjectives about myself to the list." She gave a subtle smile, and although it looked incredibly forced, he appreciated it all the same. _

"_We'll be fine you know. Your heroic friends will rescue us, and the war will be over in no time."_

"_I sure hope so."_

* * *

**February 22, 2000**

Bonnie nervously licked her lips and looked around before picking up her fallen books. A slight blush colored her face. She supposed it was alright, no one saw her. She headed to English IV and sat in her customary seat next to Andrew Perkins. The teacher wasn't here, so she needed to give no explanation for her lateness, although she suspected defeating the Original Witch (or, rather, trying to), who tried to use you to kill her friends was an excused tardy. Oddly enough, she had been gone for a few weeks, probably trying to lure them into a false sense of security. Still, it was nice to have a break from the drama. Having Klaus become obsessed with Caroline had been useful in the way Damon's interest in Elena had kept him in line, under the guise of becoming a good person for his lover. Hopefully he'd be as successful as Damon had been thus far in only toeing the line. She knew they would never be 'good people' in the way most were, but she was hoping for at least not having to deal with constant dead innocents and savagery. And despite what Damon may have to say about her criticism of that, no, she was not being 'judgy'.

A few people gave her suspicious looks. Particularly a particularly tiny blonde (whose name she'd forgotten despite having a nigh miniscule population in her town), who'd decided to sneer so hard, Bonnie was sure that the girl would soon have to have surgery to move her face out of that expression. Apparently, dating a stoner had made it so that people would jump to the conclusion that she and her friends were missing so often, simply to get high on pot, crack cocaine, LSD, and so many other drugs that if they'd even tried to do as much as they claimed, they'd have all overdosed and died. Including the vampires. Never mind the fact that relationship had been over for a while now. She wondered if it was sad that she was glad this was what they thought about her, rather than the truth. Unfortunately, she suspected she'd be reviled more for being a witch than doing drugs.

Once the nightmare of a class was over (she loathed history, even when Alaric was there to at least attempt making it interesting) she met Caroline, Stefan, and Elena for lunch. There was a palpable tension between the foursome as they picked nervously at their lunches, and in fairness, three of them weren't eating for sustenance. After several minutes of awkward staring, Caroline began talking, or rather whispering. "Have y'all heard what they've been saying about us?" Bonnie snorted.

"You mean how we're smoking weed whenever everyone else is at school? Yeah, I heard it. I even got asked who my supplier was."

Elena laughed, "I hope you told him where he could stick that."

"Up his butt," Caroline and Bonnie quietly chorused, before bursting into raucous laughter. It was nice, and oh so rare that they made jokes anymore, even such lame and weak ones were difficult to muster up. Stefan chortled a little at their antics.

"Seriously, though, can't people just live their own lives?"

"Unfortunately not. The fact that we're not little potheads won't get around either, the little bastard is probably going to keep gossiping about us too." and it wouldn't, because this was an old-fashioned, God-fearing, Southern town. Admitting you didn't say grace was enough to be shunned by some people, this is, of course, ignoring the rampant hypocrisy that was so prevalent. It was like living in a modern Scarlet Letter, although there fortunately weren't any more witch hangings, human-rights and all that. The classmate who asked Bonnie about where her goods came from was licking his wound, while hoping she wouldn't put it out there what he did in his free-time, "when did we become these people? We used to be able to gossip ourselves. If this is maturing, I don't like it."

Elena raised her milk carton and took a large gulp, "Amen." Caroline looked to see who was near. Once she saw that nobody was even paying attention, she lowered her voice.

"Do you know what we're going to do about this Esther situation? She's been quiet, but I don't want to be caught unaware." Everyone looked wearily at one another. Bonnie dragged her foot across the linoleum to stall. She sighed.

"We could try a binding spell." Bonnie suggested.

"Explain," Stefan said calmly.

"Well, you know how Dr. Martin took my powers forever ago," at her friends' nods, she continued speaking, "I found out the spell he used: a binding spell. He never truly took my powers. He made it so that I was unable to use them."

"Why not?" Stefan asked. His brow was furrowed as usual.

"Well, I have this idea – and it's pure speculation on my part – I don't think there's a way to steal power. If there were, I think we could defeat any witch we come in contact. If someone were to invent this spell, we would have almost limitless power."

"That could be very useful," he responded thoughtfully, before turning to gaze deeply in her eyes, "Do you think you could create this?" Bonnie fiddled with her thumbs and lowered her eyes to the table. She could feel the poignant hope coming from everyone who believed that they could escape this Hell.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not that good yet," she returned her green eyes to her friends faces. Caroline looked a little put out. Her lip stuck out in a pitiful pout. Elena gave a consoling smile and placed her hand on top of Bonnie's. Bonnie tried to ignore the feeling of death coming of her friend's skin, "I could try to find someone new to help," she suggested, hopefully.

"No, we don't have the means to trust somebody we don't know," he succinctly responded. His tone warmed when he said, "Not to say it's a bad idea, I just think we've been too risky lately. Besides, a binding spell seems sufficient enough."

"I understand," she responded softly.

"Ugh," Caroline exclaimed, "back to class, we go. Bye Bonnie, Stefan."

Elena kissed Stefan and accompanied Caroline to Pre-Calculus. She waved to Bonnie on her way out. Stefan held the door as they both went to their respective classes, "After you, Bonnie."

"Thanks, Stefan," and the day continued much in the same way.

* * *

Mae Del Rey primped in front of her floor length mirror. She blew kisses to her figure, as she stood in her most recent purchase from Victoria's Secret. A robe covered her lacy lingerie. A knock landed on her door. She quickly ran to dress before her brother came in and sat on her large comforter. She painted her lips scarlet to match her mini-dress. One eyebrow rose on her perfectly trimmed eyebrow. Mercutio crossed his arms to stare at his sister.

"Don't you have better things to do with your day?"

"You mean hang out with you? I definitely prefer this," she smirked jestingly towards him. He threw one of her dozen pillows towards her head. She tackled him to the ground and began beating him with the pillow he had stolen from her bed.

"Say sorry," they said at the same time, before collapsing into a fit of laughter.

"Merlin, I thought someone had broken in," Cassie said. One hand was strategically placed on her chest, as if in the midst of a heart attack. She had rushed up to inspect the noise originating from Mae's room.

"Ma, you act as if we don't have protection charms on our house. I highly doubt a human will come and try to rob us."

"Maybe not a muggle, but the Volturi, they've been trying to reinstate, and if they find out about you, we are most certainly dead," she scolded Mercutio. Darius had walked down the hall to go to his office, newspaper and vodka in hand, when he'd heard his wife giving their son an earful.

"Now now, what have you been doing to your poor mother," he glared at his son, who ashamedly looked down at his feet. He was glad he could still intimidate his son. Mae always strutted around as if she owned the world and everyone in it, "I suggest you apologize."

"Sorry, mum," he said, the British vernacular escaping his lips as easily as the American, though it generally was more common when subdued behavior was needed.

"Mae?"

"Really, me too? Fine, I'm sorry; I'll never scare you again. You do know that vampires couldn't get through either, unless there is a betrayer in our midst," she sighed disappointedly then, for effect, pointed towards her brother, "personally, I think it's this one."

Cassie let out an exasperated noise and Mercutio glared. Darius lightly laughed at their antics. He was happy to be home. His week had been too long, dealing with back-stabbers and opportunists. However, when Cassie turned her angry look upon him, he realized there was something scarier than his enemies, and it was probably going to make him sleep on the couch. Ah, life was good.

* * *

**March 4, 2000**

Having to bury one's friends was one of the hardest things a person can do; especially when so many died in one fatal swoop. War was one of the most difficult things to get through. Harry Potter would know. He'd seen it tear up families, breaking their hearts and twisting something that used to be capable of unconditional feeling into such an unrecognizable piece of tissue. A heart that could beat for nothing at all, but the minimum for survival was left behind after shrapnel had destroyed it.

An honor for the dead, they called it. It was nothing but a sham in his eyes. He practically saw red when he saw the very same people who were more than happy to support Voldemort's reign of terror when it was happening, crying over the casualties on the light side. The blatant hypocrisy was absolutely sickening. It disappointed him that someone he had thought was so rare and loathsome, Umbridge, was no worse than these people, just more extreme in her tactics.

He saw that he was not the only one so thoroughly disgusted. Celeste, on her knees, was laying a red rose at the memorial when she caught sight of Arethusa Clemmons, who had brightly handed out the 'Facts About Mudbloods' leaflets, sobbing in earnest. She scoffed incredulously then kissed the tip of her fingers before pressing them to the base of the memorial. Her heart ached that she could no longer press her lips to the person. Ginny kept her arms around Celeste's shoulders as they started shaking. When she stood up abruptly, wiped the dirt off her trousers, and stormed over to the blithering woman, she knew her anger had taken over. Ginny was about to stop her, but decided she'd much rather watch this woman be crucified.

Celeste's thunderous anger couldn't be stopped by fire and brimstone, when she stormed towards the object of her aggression. Said woman, jumped in surprise before wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. When she caught sight of the expression in the brunette's eyes, she became slightly wary, "Why are you crying like this?" Celeste asked. Arethusa eyes widened.

"Because so many people have died, and it's sad that they don't get to see this new world," She sighed dramatically, "And how exactly am I crying?"

"Like an attention whore," the woman indignantly squealed and was about to speak when Celeste continued, her voice getting more acerbic with each passing word, "Tell me where was all this empathy was when you saw the Ministry rounding up muggleborns for slaughter? Where? Nowhere, because you just are a pitiful follower who thinks that sobbing like a moronic bint will make me forget. I never will though. My husband is dead because cowards like you couldn't stand up for anyone but yourself." Quickly, she moved so her mouth was against the woman's ear and whispered, "I hope when you go to sleep, you see everyone who died, and know you did _nothing_ to prevent it!" Celeste walked off, brushing people's sympathetic hands as she went. She fought tears the entire way, before letting them out after reaching an empty lavatory. Arethusa blushed as everyone's cruel stares hit her. She too ran off, with what little was left of her pride. Harry and Ginny held hands and looked on the scene with melancholy. It seemed the world hadn't changed as much as they'd hoped.


End file.
